


Cause They’re Calling Me (Home)

by tukimecca



Series: Everything that makes me whole (I'll dedicate them all to you) [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Related, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 05:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: Taeyong dreams he is in so much pain. Jaehyun is there to heal.





	Cause They’re Calling Me (Home)

_You show the light that stops me turn to stone_  
_You shine it when I’m alone_  
_And so I tell myself that I’ll be strong_ _  
_ and dreaming when they’re gone

Lights – Ellie Goulding

:::

He dreams of red. He dreams of black.

He dreams of a race he cannot finish. He sees the stairs he cannot climb.

There are shoes, laces untied. He stands there, staring down. There are boys, ten, fifteen, growing eight, growing taller.

There is a boy, alone. His eyes are big, they are dark, it’s like peeking under the bed. He’s scared. The boy becomes two. He hears himself screaming. There are hands on his neck, there are tears streaming down the boys’ faces.

He dreams of opening box filled with cards. He dreams of black paint splatter on grey canvas. On the cards, written with ink vivid and red, are the word; _failure_.

There is apology on the tip of his tongue. He cannot breathe. He is suffocated. There is another boy and his hair is red, red like the fire that’s licking on his feet. He’s burning. He feels hot. The boys are still crying, the red haired boy is looking at him.

He wants to reach out. He sees fireworks. He sees exhaustion in those eyes. There is flock of owls, staring at him.

He reaches out, but the boys disappear. Eighteen is now down to one, and the hands on his neck are replaced by a duly thudding pain.

His breath is catches on his throat, the fire is climbing up to his knees, but strangely, he doesn’t feel hot. He watches, mesmerized, as the boy bends down to tie his shoelaces.

The boy eventually looks up, when he smiles, there are doves flying away.

Taeyong wakes up with Mark looking down worriedly at him, brows furrowed. “Taeyong-hyung?”

He still cannot breathe properly, his limbs feel dead, but he can manage, “..Jae…”

Mark nods then quickly leaves his side after giving Taeyong’s knee a comforting squeeze. Taeyong lets his eyes close again, but he is still awake. He is aware of the thundering footsteps, hurried, impatient. He can hear Doyoung prattle anxiously somewhere, he hears Winwin trying to placate him down.

He feels hands on him, gently pulling his arm and rolling his sleeves up. Taeyong feels heavy like someone is trying to drag him underwater, breathing is still a chore. There is another hand on his own and it feels achingly familiar, he seeks for that warmth. He tilts his head aside, thinking that it can get him closer to that source of heat, it smells like ocean. It feels like liberation.

There is a touch, faint and gentle on the crown of his head. It lasts no more than a second but it lingers. Something cold is being rubbed to his skin, Taeyong groans at the sudden coolness. The touch is back again, and the hand on his own is starting to rub a comforting circle on the back of his palm.

“You will be okay,” Taeyong’s eyes are closed, but he knows to whom that voice belongs to.

He sees the boy in his dream. He sees him ripping the black cards. He sees him extending his hand, there is sun on the sky outside the window, blazing, watching them. But the boy’s smile is even more radiant.

There are birds taking flights. There are thousands of paper crane drifting a shore. Breathing becomes easier, he can smell the ocean. He remembers visiting Busan once with his family.

That touch is there again, but this time, on the back of his hand. Taeyong sighs, his body grows heavier, his head hurts but his heart heals. There’s an ache at the back of his neck, on his back, but he pays it no mind.

Taeyong takes that hand, it’s bigger than his own. Stronger. Someone is calling for him, but he can hear only one, “good night, Hyung.”

Taeyong sleeps again.

:::

Taeyong wakes up with slight cramp at the back of his neck and on his upper arm. He feels energized, but he’s not feeling better. Whatever they injected on him works really well because even if he is still feeling a little dead inside, his body feels like it can run miles for hours.

He goes through his schedule in a breeze. Pre-record at AM dead in the morning, another recording schedule, then the actual music show. They still have another one for the radio, and tomorrow already have another set of schedule lined up for them.

His only solace is he got his _personal bodyguard_ sticking to him like a shadow 24/7, of course when no major camera is rolling. He’s been asking for Jaehyun non-stop himself, shamelessly, the other members know it’s for the best, that when Taeyong is feeling under, it’s best to give him Jaehyun (and vice versa).

He can’t help it, Jaehyun takes care of him really well. He doesn’t even have to use his word or finger, just one look, just one shift of expression, Jaehyun gets it. It’s so easy. It’s so convenient. It’s so breathtaking to have someone who can understand him this much. This deep. It’s as if the understanding is there, running in their blood, printed on their genetic code.

Jaehyun taps his finger on Taeyong’s knee. A well-rehearsed signal; _I’m going_.

“Take care,” Taeyong says, smiling, tired. Happy. Jaehyun lets his hand linger for a while, giving the knee a squeeze then gets up to change his clothes for his MC duty.

The seat beside him is empty. It suddenly feels cold. Taeyong can feel Johnny’s eyes on him, assessing, worried. He is kind. Johnny is always so kind, so is Doyoung who comes to occupy the spot Jaehyun vacated with a package of biscuit.

“Chocolate?” the purple-haired boy offers.

Taeyong smiles, thankful, tired.

He wants Jaehyun.

“Thank you.”

Maybe, he’ll be punished for being ungrateful, but he is not happy.

:::

He sticks to Jaehyun like they’re attached by magnet. Or invisible string. Or according to Taeil, “oh that amazing thing called love.”

Yuta cringes and calls him _clingy_ instead, Taeyong decides to let the issue drop and presses his body closer to Jaehyun’s side as the van carries them to SBS building where their last schedule of the day is being held.

Jehyun smells like midnight shore, calm and serene. He loves it. He can be there and he’s lullaby already, he is what Taeyong needs for his battered body and bruised soul. He’s exactly what Taeyong craves for his decaying heart.

“We’re here,” Johnny announces from the passenger seat.

They get off from the van, Taeyong refusing to let go of Jaehyun even once. It’s only when they’re inside and Jaehyun and Johnny has to get their scripts ready that Taeyong eventually gives up, so reluctantly.

He feels weary again, shoulders dropping together with his smile. Jaehyun looks apologetic, he’s already by the door but he quickly retraced his step back, for Taeyong, to give his thigh a reassuring squeeze, and a comforting smile. “It’ll be quick, okay?”

Taeyong nods without attempting to make a smile. He reserve that for later when they will be in front of the camera again, the last for the day. One last squeeze, then Jaehyun is gone.

Taeyong stares at the empty spot before him where Jaehyun was and is only distracted when Winwin pokes his side for his attention.

“Chocolate, Hyung?” the Chinese boy offers.

He smiles. Sweet, little Sicheng. “Thank you.”

Taeyong picks up the sweet square on Winwin’s upturned palm and pops it to his mouth. It’s sweet, it numbs his tongue. There is a name crowding at the base of his throat.

He remembers his dream, the crying boys, the boy with red hair. The fireworks. The ripped black cards. The intimidating stairs.

The faraway finish line. The boy who tied his shoelaces.

“Sicheng?”

“Yes, Hyung?”

“I’m fine.”

:::

The radio recording went well. Sitting across Jaehyun and not able to touch him was a pure torture delivered by the hand of Hades himself. Taeyong couldn’t help it when he pulled Jaehyun close to him and kept his arm circled around the boy’s waist.

He _needed_ this contact, needed this closeness, and needed everything. He couldn’t live without, his body was growing heavy again with the effect of the last shot subsiding. He needed Jaehyun, as close as possible. He couldn’t breathe without him. He’s drowning.

Doyoung teases him after that once they were out from the recording room while Johnny and Jaehyun were tidying up the studio, “possessive.”

Taeyong pretends he didn’t hear it. Yuta did though, he asks, “what?”

“Jaehyun hugged, who’s that guy from Seventeen? And now he’s being like this.”

Yuta is giving him a funny look, Taeyong can feel it pricking his already sore neck. He did all that; the heart signs and singing endless praises for Jaehyun, tilting his head just so Jaehyun can make the N sign with him, taking shot with cherry in unconventional pose to distract him.

He did all that because he was dying without Jaehyun’s attention. He didn’t do that because he’s jealous.

“Seriously, Lee Taeyong?” Yuta sniggers, nudging him with his elbow.

Taeyong pretends he didn’t hear, he also pretends he’s light-headed enough that one harmless push from Yuta can make him sway and fall.

His members gasp when Taeyong lets his body lurch sideways, but then there’s solidness catching him, and hand on each side of his hip, securing him in place. There is ocean, so close. Taeyong sighs, he is so happy to be this close to the point he wants to cry. It’s overwhelming.

“…I’m fine,” he murmurs to the owner of this mind-numbing heat; the heat he wants to be swallowed in. The heat that has consumed the misery his past had brought him.

“You are not,” Jaehyun disagrees. “We should leave. You need rest. It’s gonna be another long day tomorrow, Hyung.”

“Do you think he needs another shot?” their manager asks, worried.

Taeyong lets himself sag further to Jaehyun’s body, leaning all his weight on him. Jaehyun stands, strong. Still. Taeyong feels like floating. “I don’t know. Maybe? Just to be safe.”

He’s afraid of needles, he hates getting shot done. The thought of silver needle scares him, but his body is giving up on him again, Taeyong curses his genetic that makes his body this _fucking_ weak. But he’s thankful at the same time because if he’s a little healthier and less frail, Jaehyun wouldn’t be there doing all these amazing things for him.

“Let’s sit down for now, Hyung, okay?”

He can only give Jaehyun a nod, still leaning on him like he has no strength left in his body. It’s not a total exaggeration, the _weak enough to fall by Yuta’s push_ was, but the deadweight on his limbs are not. His neck still aches like a bitch, and the weariness comes back with vengeance.

Jaehyun arranges it so Taeyong is half sitting across his lap, his head tucked safely under his chin. He runs a comforting circle on Taeyong’s side. The spot burns. Taeyong wants to be numb everywhere but there. “You-“

“-m not jealous,” he doesn’t know why he said that. He just feels the need to.

He is not jealous that Jaehyun hugged someone else for all the cameras and eyes to see when Taeyong was barely surviving if not for the chemical injected to his blood.

If only it could be Jaehyun who’s injected to his veins. If only it could be Jaehyun who’s smoked into his lungs.

“I know.”

It’s not enough. It can never be enough.

:::

Taeyong dreams again.

The stairs are still there. Tall. Imposing. He cannot see where does it lead him to, and the boy is standing there, thirty steps ahead of him, looking down on him with eyes that gleam, warm and sweet like honeyed sun.

Taeyong wants to chase after the boy, but his feet are tired. His knees ache. His back does too, his neck is the worst of all.

Behind them, another firework burst. Doves fly across the sky. The owls are nowhere to be seen, but the feeling of being watched is there.

The boy smiles down on him, upturned palm still outstretched to his direction.

Taeyong can hear the silent question; _why aren’t you taking my hand?_

Someone is crying again. Another boy is there, clutching his knee as he folds his body into fetal position. There are words, spoken in language he doesn’t understand. There is that boy again with red hair but he is younger, looking so much younger with cheeks fuller and eyes bigger.

He looks up at Taeyong with admiration, unhidden adoration in his voice when he speaks, “Hyung.”

Taeyong wants to hug him and tell him it’ll be alright. Something fell behind them with wet splat; birthday cake. He can only imagine how beautiful it was before it fell to the floor, decorated prettily with pastel colored creams and condiments.

The boy apologizes, “I’m sorry, Hyung.” And he’s back with red hair, taller, cheeks gaunter. Taeyong knows he should be smiling, more, more, _and more_. He’s dying sun, and Taeyong cannot survive without him.

Taeyong cannot breathe. He tries to hold the boy, tries to save him, but there are words being dumped on him, and the boy is gone.

The words bury him under, he is drowning. His chest feels heavy, Taeyong screws his eyes shut because he doesn’t want to see the words. He doesn’t have to read to know what it says. He hears keyboards, clicking. Someone is typing. Everybody is typing. He cannot _fucking_ breathe.

He sees another boy. Maybe a man. Tall. Handsome. His eyes are dark and enticing. He’s younger but he is bigger. And he is on the stairs, beside the boy with honeyed eyes.

He climbs up, higher, faster. He calls for the boy, “come with me,” he says, and Taeyong feels the fire is back, traveling up to his waist, and higher to burn his lungs.

The boy looks up to the man with dark eyes, his hand still outstretched toward Taeyong’s direction. Taeyong is still buried under heaps of words, he cannot move, nor can he breathe. He tries to call out but it’s not his voice that comes out from his mouth; stones, black, broken. They spill from his lips like rain, and then he starts to choke out more.

Paint smudge. Pink silk on black clothes. A smile, so sincere, so happy. A touch on his side. A gentle kiss on his forehead. A comforting squeeze on his knee.

Taeyong dreams of red. Taeyong dreams of black.

Taeyong dreams of sun, unsinking and everlast. Taeyong dreams that the boy takes of his shoes, untying the lace one by one. Taeyong chokes out another stone. The boy still and the man upstairs is calling for him again.

A piece of paper flutter down. The same black card. The same red _failure._ He sees empty room surrounded by mirrors. Taeyong sees his own reflection, so young, so weak, so fragile. Taeyong feels the weight of the words crushing him down.

He cries. He was crying. He was so small, and he still is. The man calls for the boy’s name. His neck hurts. His back hurts. His everything hurts. His past. His present. His future.

The boy looks up, Taeyong thought he’s going to die. He will if the boy decided to climb up and leave him alone.

He will if the boy decides to set his eyes on anything but Taeyong.

“Jaehyunnie…”

It’s no longer stone that he cries out, it’s a name. The name of the boy with sun in his eyes.

Jaehyun looks at him, he’s still on the stairs, his hair is shading his eyes; they’re darker, deeper, like rust on iron.

“Taeyong-hyung.”

Taeyong dreams, but when he wakes up, it’s to Jaehyun’s nose pressed on the side of his neck and his arms around him.

It’s like drowning, because Jaehyun smells like the sea, like the azure clap of the waves and the salty breeze of the shore.

He breathes, even. He is alive. He’s not somewhere else, he’s here with him. Holding him close. Tying him down. Grounding him. The stairs are nowhere to be seen, the man with dark eyes is not here to take Jaehyun away.

The room is dark, Taeil has willingly switched room with Jaehyun, and his bed is left empty. Taeyong’s eyes are opened but he cannot see anything. He can only feel, he can only smell.

“Jaehyunnie?”

Jaehyun stirs. He has always been light sleeper, his breath tickles Taeyong’s skin. His neck still aches, but he is breathing easy now. There’s comforting weight across his torso, there are legs tangled with his own. “Hyung?”

If Taeyong closed his eyes, he can still see the boys; with red hair, with big eyes. Eighteen grows twenty, then down to seven. The boys with hearts but the queens had been overthrown. The boys, they leave one by one, and eventually, Taeyong will be left alone.

“You okay?”

This is one of the boys, he is curled to his side. He feasts on from his heat. He shines and chases away the darkness that Taeyong finds to be too hard to beat. He stops the noises in Taeyong’s head.

He touches Taeyong’s skin, and Taeyong knows he’s still alive. Here, with his flesh and blood, and bones he found it wonder to be unbroken with how many beatings he had taken.

And heart, heart that has miraculously survived through that entire catastrophe.

“Hyung-“

“I’m not,” Taeyong breathes out. He reaches out blindly in the dark, Jaehyun takes his hand, squeezing. When he speaks again, he sounds like he has been crying, “I’m not. I’m scared. I’m tired, Jaehyunnie. I- we-“

He sees the black cards. He sees the red letters. He feels the weight of the words on his shoulders. He remembers how it feels to be crushed under the weight of shame and expectation.

“I can’t. They cannot wait. I must not fail them, they’ve been waiting enough. I can’t. I’m falling – _we are_ – and it’s my fault. I’m-“

Jaehyun kisses him.

Jaehyun kisses him, long, hard. Jaehyun kisses him until Taeyong forgets everything, forgets all the things that had happened and will, but Jaehyun. His weight is comforting. His heat is consuming. His presence is overwhelming. He is his be and end all. He is all Taeyong need and can take.

Taeyong dreamt.

Taeyong dreamt that everyone turn their backs on him. Taeyong dreamt that his friends push him away. Taeyong dreamt they leave him. Taeyong dreamt they curse him, censure him.

Taeyong dreamt of the boy with red hair. He saw Haechan.

Taeyong dreamt of the boy with big eyes. He saw Hansol.

Taeyong dreamt the boy cried. He heard Jaemin.

Taeyong dreamt of the boy with bruised knee. He heard Ten.

He should protect them. He should be the one who bear their pains. He’s their leader. He was the first one to screw up, he was the one who led them to this path of ruin, and he fears that this road will continue forever. All because of him, all because of one mistake his younger self had committed.

But then there was Jaehyun. There was the boy who stayed when twenty went down into one. There was the boy who tied his shoelaces and offered Taeyong his hand.

The very same boy is now a man, holding him, kissing him. He is two years younger, yet he is so much bigger, brighter. He shines down on Taeyong, a dying star. He returned the queen to Taeyong’s heart, he showed Taeyong the way again, he defeated the darkness that made Taeyong unable to sleep.

He gave Taeyong everything, the strength, the love he didn’t know he would need to survive. The hunger for companion and hatred for loneliness that he used to call a friend.

“we will be fine,” Jaehyun says to his lips, pressing another kiss. It’s fast, it’s gentle and soft.

But just like everything that is Jaehyun on him; it lingers.

“It’s not your fault, Hyung. We all will be fine, as long as you are. So, you have to be fine, okay?”

“I-“

“I’m here,” Jaehyun reassures him, bumping their noses together. He’s only clothed from the waist down because summer has decided to come earlier, and his bare skin burns Taeyong through the cotton material of his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere. You will be fine.”

“You’re not?” Taeyong sniffs, he doesn’t realize he’s been crying. He’s been dreaming, and he doesn’t cry when he dreams because he’s already used to the pain and sorrow that slaughtered him in his sleep to the point he’s numb.

“When did I ever?”

The light is turned off, but even then, Taeyong can see him, clear as the day. The contour of his strong jaw, the slope of his nose. The slant of his cheeks. The slight upturn of his lips. The sweet dimples. The way his eyes gleam like citrine colored gemstones.

Taeyong untangle their joined hands, he reaches out to cup that beautiful face. Jaehyun leans into his touch, sighing. His bare chest presses down on Taeyong’s clothed one when he released his breath.

“You never,” Taeyong murmurs.

Jaehyun kisses him again, this time more gentle. This time less rougher, but he’s still the storm that flatten all Taeyong’s worry and fear.

“Don’t leave me?” He asks, quiet, still a little bit scared because reality is never his best friend, it can come crashing down on him anytime it wants.

“I’d rather die than doing that.”

Taeyong will dream again, but he thinks he will be fine, as long as he got this force of nature with him.

:::

He dreams of red. He dreams of black.

Taeyong dreams. Of the boys. Of the fireworks. Of the owls and flying doves. Of the stairs that endlessly lead him to nowhere yet he’s still unable to climb.

Taeyong dreams of seven going up to sixteen, then back to one. He dreams of five counting down. He dreams of eyes, warm yet piercing.

He dreams of words. He hears someone cries. He is faced once again with dark that’s too hard to beat. His King and Queen will be overthrown.

Taeyong wakes up, engulfed by the sea. Taeyong wakes up to feather like kisses on his naked back. Along his spines, like scaling the map, like prayer.

“You must be hurting,” Jaehyun murmurs, voice deeply laced with love and apology. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I can’t do much.”

Jaehyun’s lips linger, longer on one spot, on his upper back where it aches the most. It doesn’t immediately heal, but the pain lessen away.

Taeyong closes his eyes again, drifting back to sleep.

In his dream, the boy is there, smiling. His palm upturned, his eyes warmer than thousands of sun.

“Chocolate, Hyung?”

“I thought you hated it,” Taeyong says.

The boy laughs. The boy grows taller before him, his feature growing sharper, his body fuller. His eyes still sears through him like his touch.

He is still waiting for him, refusing to leave him alone.

“But you love it.”

Taeyong smiles. This is his dream, so he won’t say it.

When he wakes up, though, he will.

 _And I love You_.

**Author's Note:**

> Taeyong always struck me as someone physically weak and fragile, so I love(?) writing him being like this ha ha. I’m sorry. Jaehyun taking care of him is my favorite thing, too. I really hope they can end this era without Taeyong injuring his back.
> 
> If you noticed, I always described Jaehyun as 'smelling like sea/ocean'. It's because his Joe Malone perfume is "sea salt & wood sage", and it truly smells like one.
> 
> Apologize for any timeline or place inaccuracy, as well as grammatical error (un-beta-ed). Set after showcase 20170614 ~ morning before music bank 20170616. Events mentioned are MCount Down & NCT NIGHT NIGHT.


End file.
